


Mumbling + Words + Sore Throat

by EWM



Series: Comfortember (myfirstone!!) [9]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016) Whump, F/M, Gen, Hurt Angus Macgyver (Macgyver 2016), Mac angry and frightened, Macgyver AU, Murder Trial, Poor Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Prison, Worried Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), mac in prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27543241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EWM/pseuds/EWM
Summary: So this is super later..written with the Day comfortember prompt in mind - CONFESSIONMac is stuck in solitary confinement and Dr Arran tries to piece together what is going on. What do you guys think? Did I reveal too much? Too little? How's this story going? This is part of a much wider story - Non peccavimus + Deal + Prison, check that out to read the rest of it :)
Relationships: Angus MacGyver/Desiree "Desi" Nguyen
Series: Comfortember (myfirstone!!) [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1996306
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11
Collections: Comfortember 2020





	Mumbling + Words + Sore Throat

Mac spent ten days and ten nights in solitary confinement, and he was lucky he didn’t get more the warden snapped at Dr Arran as he argued desperately for Mac’s earlier release. Arran fought with the warden for hours over Mac, said he was damaged, needed help, the guards abuse of him was chronic, he’d already survived one attack on his life, what if the guards killed him trapped in there, what if he ended up dying of starvation or worse in there who’s fault was it? The warden would have absolutely none of it, as far as he was concerned; Angus MacGyver was a brutal child murderer who had broken the rules of his prison and was getting what he deserved. Perhaps more importantly Dr Arran’s arrogance bothered him no end and he couldn’t understand the man’s logic. His kindness and generosity to the worst possible men, but the doc was useful too so he couldn’t really get rid of him or say what he thought to him. When the doctor was around there was less death, less illness, it all made the prison look good, so for now he the warden just about held his tongue. Arran wanted to scream in frustration at the warden for his lack of understanding and his refusal to help Mac or any of the other prisoners, but his swearing, his pleading for once got him nothing. So, the conversation ended with Arran slamming the door behind him.

Of course, Mac knew nothing about any of this. He remained locked in his dark little hole, a cell he couldn’t pace in, hell he could barely stand in it. He went back to being cold and shivering every night, it was so quiet that Mac swore he could hear his teeth chattering. Unsurprisingly there was no heating or bedding of any kind. Maybe they thought it was for his own safety or maybe they were just cruel or maybe they didn’t care enough at all to even really think Mac thought bitterly. He spent most of his time wrapping his arms around himself in a desperate attempt to keep warm. The cuts on his wrists and ankles got more and more raw as the days went on…and perhaps worst of all the ache in his hands came back. His fingers and his wrists ached every time he tried to stretch them out. He tried to sleep lying down on the floor, but the cold was son painful he would always end up getting up, scrapping his raw hands along the concrete walls. The best option he found he had was to crush himself into one of the corners as tight as he could, pushing his knees up against his chin. True it made his neck ache and his head, but it meant that less of him felt like it was freezing to death, in that position he managed to doze off in an uncomfortable, but at least passable version of sleep.

It was dark too bar one tiny line of natural light that came from bottom of the door frame; maybe a design flaw when they built the cell, Mac thought as he lent against the wall or perhaps the door had warped slightly with time, although that suggested that the door wasn’t made of concrete, which seemed odd to him for a solitary cell. Sometimes he got a flash of light, when the food or the ‘slop bucket’ got changed. That had been a fun experience, the first time that had had happened. A guard screaming slop bucket at him, Mac hadn’t even know the bucket was there having hurt too much to move around in the miniscule box, but then an angry guard and hand appeared cursing and screaming at him. Mac had scrabbled around in the dark and knocking into something metal covered in slime and gunk. He pushed it towards the guard and the guard swore at him as he touched the same slim ‘filthy fucking animal’ he screamed the flap in the door. After that Mac get the bucket near the door, he didn’t want to be screamed at again. His eyes got used to the darkness or the greyness as he sometimes called it, as the days went on he managed to make out the lines of the cell, scratches and stains on the walls or at least that’s what he thought they were. He did his best to occupy his mind in the dark, one day he tried to work out the exact proportions of the cell without a ruler (obviously), another day he recited pie backwards as far as it would go and imagined all the numbers covering the walls, then came chess, ironically not a favourite of his but the moves did occupy his mind and he could somehow picture the chess pieces dancing on the board in front of him.

The food was another thing, he couldn’t cope with. After the first five days he gave up on eating the food, it never stayed in him anyway, he didn’t stop drinking the water they gave him because he knew wouldn’t able to survive without it, whereas he knew he could go for much longer without food. Sometimes he whispered to himself, he couldn’t really talk or yell because one of the guards might hear and he couldn’t have that and the fight had bruised his neck too, he thought maybe his trachea was damaged as even whispering softly to himself could shoot pain down his throat if he wasn’t careful. Either way he kept his talking to a whisper, he talked about Bozer, about Riley, he wondered what they were doing, he hoped they were doing something nice outside in the light while he sat in the dark. He talked about Matty and Taylor, he talked about how much they argued running the Phoenix, he offered a prayer to the universe that they were getting on better. He compartmentalised away his screaming match with Desi, determinedly blocking it out of his head. He just said over and over again and that he wanted her to be happy and it was as simple as that, occasionally he referenced Jack, but that was dangerous territory too because it meant going back far too far, to a time before all of this, so his brain kept Jack out of his thoughts largely. So his days passed with mumbling and cold and aching hands.

The guards did eventually let him out again, Arran obviously had been right, they couldn’t actually let him die in there. When the door finally opened, the full light was blinding, Mac put his hands over his eyes in a panic because it was so painful. The guards ignored this and dragged him to his feet, holding their noses and trying not gag. Mac stank of sweat and other unpleasant bodily fluids when he came out. Dr Arran was waiting for him medical bag in hand, he was horrified by the smell and the boy’s appearance. But he was made of stronger stuff than the guards. He kept his reactions buried inside and concentrated on what he could fix. The more petty part of Arran was annoyed that this had all happened just as he had just about got the kid back on his feet again and now he was a broken down mess again.. Mac had become skeletal thin (quite an achievement considering he was skinny when he first came to them), the bruises on his neck had turned a nasty yellow green as had the black eye. The cuts across his wrists and Arran suspected his ankles as well looked raw and angry, another infection most likely. Solitary was never exactly clean. Mac was barely conscious, blinking as the guards held him up. Arran determinedly took him off their hands existing on a full medical examination before he was returned to his cell. Arran gently took one of Mac’s arms and lifted it onto his should and walked along with him. Mac almost passed out with relief. Arran he recognised, Arran he was safe with even if it was for only a little while.

They made it to the medical bay and Arran made Mac sit on one of the beds. Mac wobbled a little as his eyes continued to adjust to the light and his underfed body struggled to keep him upright. Arran said very little, he only dressed the wounds on Mac’s wrists and ankles, Mac hissed and tried to pull his wrist away as the doctor cleaned the angry red line encircling his hand, pain shooting up his arm. But Arran kept a firm hold; and cleaned the dust and gunk away and wrapped a bandage around each wrist and each ankle. He examined Mac’s neck afterwards, nothing was broken, but heavy bruising and possible internal damage, a perverse blessing as it would give him an excuse to keep Mac around longer. Next the doctor went into his office and found Mac some water and pulled some antibiotics from one of his many cabinets, he waved them in front of Mac’s face expectantly. MacGyver was so dopy at that point that he took them without complaint. The minutes passed and they both breathed a little easier.

 _“So tell me what happened?”_ Arran asked

_“What?”_

_“That little outburst of yours when your ‘friend’ visited you.”_

_“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”_

_“Come on Mac…you do. All the screaming, the cursing, the guards have been discussing nothing but your rant for days.”_

Mac stayed silent, Arran couldn’t know, he couldn’t. He was going to put another person; an innocent person in danger, if he said a word. 

_“Fine…you’re not ready to talk….I can understand that. I’m not priest hearing your confession and this certainly isn’t a church, you don’t know me or trust me….no it’s fine. I know you don’t trust me. I can understand that. “_

Mac swallowed, he wanted to talk to someone desperately. But he bit his tongue, he had to stay silent. He just had to.

_“Since you’re going to stay quiet. I think I’ll just make some educated guesses. Your friend whoever she was…I’m going to say girlfriend from the guard’s description of her told you something terribly positive or she tried to be positive. She tried to give you some hope, say that’d she fix this mess, possibly even that she’d wait for you. You don’t have any living family according to your file, but maybe you’ve got a circle of friends out there, maybe you’ve built your family.”_

Mac raised an eyebrow

_“Don’t look so shocked Mac, as head of the medical facilities hear I’ve got certain privileges when looking after patients and frankly the rest isn’t hard to work out.”_

_“I just don’t want to cause more trouble.”_ Mac managed to whisper

_“That guard really did a number on your neck with his baton didn’t he”_

Mac smiled weakly feeling the bruises around his neck

_“Alright…I’ve got it right so far. Let’s see if I can find out a bit more. It’s obviously about your case…it made for grim reading; I’ve got to say. But there’s something in it, that doesn’t quite make sense to me. And I’d like to ask you, if you don’t mind?”_

Mac shrugged his shoulders, he didn’t have to many options.

_“Why?”_

_“What?”_

_“Why did you do it?”_

_“Excuse me?"_

_“It’s a simple enough question.”_

_“Why are you even asking me this?’_

_“I’d just like to know that’s all.”_

_“What happened to, not getting involved in patient’s crimes? Was that all lies? Why are you prodding around in my history? Why do you even care? Or does the rule not count for me?_ ” Mac’s voice was getting louder and louder, his broken throat rasping the words out, filled by anger. Mac got to his feet, grimacing again as he felt the pain shoot up his wrists and legs, but he was determined, he made it to the door despite his exhaustion and the pain.

 _“You didn’t do it, did you?”_ Arran said quietly

Mac stopped in his tracks. He didn’t turn around

_“All those murders, all those gruesome, overly elaborate killings. All those kids, none of that’s you, is it?”_

Mac leant on the door for support breathing heavily.

_“It doesn’t matter now, I’m here to stay. I am a criminal, I’m where I’m supposed to be.”_

_“Why did you take the wrap for it?”_

_“I made…..this choice to protect the people I love. As long as I stay here, my family are safe.”_

Mac didn’t turn around; he’d already said enough. He might have already said to much. He’d have to watch himself from now on, the doc kind as he was, was now another risk. He’d have to stay away from him. But that wasn’t Mac’s choice as he tried to leave, Arran got up and walked over to him

_“I’m sorry Mr MacGyver, but you’re not allowed to leave the medical bay.”_

_“Excuse me.”_

_“It’s my considered medical opinion that you are not well enough to be returned to the general population, so therefore, you will remain here.”_

_“You can’t keep me here.”_

_“Actually, I can. Mac please don’t do anything foolish. Just stay here for a little while and recover.”_


End file.
